


Wait for the Wheel

by tfm



Series: Different Destinations [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-02-17
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:17:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Infamous serial killer Spencer Reid is back, and this time he won't be content with taking just one BAU member. This time, he has to have them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wait For the Wheel

** _The supreme irony of life is that hardly anyone gets out of it alive._ **

_Robert Heinlein_

*             *             *

I

Sometimes, Spencer Reid liked to whistle as he worked. It was a newly acquired desire, brought on by his close brush with the FBI. Escaping their custody had made every experience since that much more powerful.

It had been a little over a month since he had all but humiliated the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He had murdered women right in front of their noses, and it took the kidnapping of one of their own for them to even notice him.

They’d notice him after this, he knew. They’d notice him right up until the moment he killed them all.

His tastes were evolving. He’d never killed a man before – plenty of women, but never a man. That would all change soon enough.

The young man before him was bound and gagged. There was no fear in his eyes. Spencer found this intriguing. Emily, the one that got away – she too had been rather stubborn in her refusal to show fear. She might well have been afraid – he didn’t know. He guessed that this stoicism was a personality trait definitive of BAU members. All that work catching serial killers would play havoc with their emotions.

Agent James Emerson was the BAU’s newest agent. Not even thirty, he had risen in the ranks faster than even Hotch. But the one night he forgot to check his locks was the night he got kidnapped by a sociopathic serial killer out for revenge.

‘Goodbye, Agent Emerson,’ said Spencer.

He plunged the knife into the young man’s chest.

*             *             *

Emily awoke with a jerk. She was breathing heavily, sweat rushing from every pore. Had she screamed? She wasn’t quite sure. Even still, Morgan seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her nightmares. It was probably the fact that she spent ten minute thrashing in her sheets before waking suddenly.

She had had the nightmares every single night since her encounter with the serial killer Spencer Reid. The specifics changed, but the theme remained the same; pain, fear, death, helplessness.

It was several moments before she became aware of Morgan’s arm around her shoulder. He had been staying with her since her release from the hospital, stating the paper-thin excuse of having to look for a new apartment. They both knew very well that he was there to help her through the ordeal.

‘Bad one?’ he asked. They varied in degree. Some nights she woke barely perturbed, other nights it was as though she has spent a couple of hours in the ninth circle of hell. Whatever resistance she had built up to the evils of the world didn’t seem to matter.

‘Um...average I suppose.’ She never described the dreams in great detail. Didn’t tell him that she had just woken from a dream in which she found herself being savagely tortured by Spencer Reid. It really was mild compared to some of the dreams she had had.

Her eyes drifted toward the alarm clock. It was a little after four in the morning – too late to be going back to sleep, but too early to be getting ready for work.

‘Sorry for waking you,’ she said apologetically. She appreciated the fact that he was there for her, but hated the she was putting him through so much.

‘You know me,’ he joked. ‘I had to get up for my early morning yoga anyway.’

They sat in silence for several minutes, before she said, ‘Thank-you.’ It wasn’t just for comforting her this morning. It was for every single moment he’d been there over the past month.

‘Always,  girl.’ He put an arm around her. ‘Always.’

*             *             *

It was seven a.m when Morgan and Emily arrived at Quantico. Emily had her work mask firmly in place; any residual effects of the nightmare would not permeate her professional life. It was a mask that would not remain secure for long.

No sooner than they had entered the bull-pen, JJ had approached them. There was a sombre look on her face that was uncharacteristic of the media liaison. ‘Conference room,’ was all she said, before running off to find Hotch.

Rossi was the only one already in the conference room. JJ was apparently talking to Hotch now, and Emerson was nowhere to be seen.

‘Do you know what this is about?’ Morgan asked his superior.

Rossi shrugged. ‘All I know is that JJ’s rushing around like a bat out of hell. Didn’t get a chance to ask.’

They were all hyperaware of the tension that seemed to accompany the mystery of the situation. Ten minutes later, when JJ arrived with a harrowed-looking Hotch, they all sat up slightly. Emerson had still not arrived, the reason for which was clear the moment JJ took to the front of the room.

‘Emerson’s dead,’ she revealed. The words struck a nerve with everyone present. Though they had known him for only two weeks, James Emerson had been a welcome presence in the dark place that the BAU had become.

‘How did he die?’ asked Rossi evenly, trying not to sound upset at the revelation.

JJ shared a glance with Hotch. Evidently, the Unit Chief already knew the score. He gave her a slight nod; permission to continue.

‘He was murdered,’ she said, whilst simultaneously bringing the pictures up on screen. It took several seconds for them to get over the amount of blood that marred the body of the person they once knew. It was Rossi who first noticed the stab pattern.

‘Is that...’ he started. JJ gave a grim nod, bringing up the next image on screen. It was a message, written in blood. Emily shifted slightly in her seat.

The message read: “Unfinished Business.”

Spencer Reid was back.


	2. Chapter 2

Wait for the Wheel

** _I am here for a purpose and that purpose is to grow into a mountain, not to shrink to a grain of sand. Henceforth will I apply ALL my efforts to become the highest mountain of all and I will strain my potential until it cries for mercy._ **

_Og Mandino_

*             *             *

II

Emily felt four pairs of eyes on her. Four concerned pairs of eyes. While the Vegas case had been tough for all of them, they weren’t the ones who had been kidnapped, raped and tortured by a serial killer. They weren’t the ones who were having chronic nightmares. Weren’t the ones who were attending therapy twice a week.

She kept her mask in place.

What she felt like doing was crawling into a corner, and hiding away from the world. She felt like letting loose the tears that she had bottled up for so long.

Emerson was dead.

Spencer Reid was back.

Her own eyes darted quickly about the room. As she had suspected, the majority of the anger was concentrated in the expressions of Hotch and Morgan. It was as though Spencer’s actions had been some kind of personal affront to them. And they had been, in a way. Morgan would never get over the fact that he had left Emily alone with a serial killer, and Hotch would never get over the fact that the same serial killer had slipped through his grasp.

When the BAU finally caught up with Spencer, it was not going to be a pleasant experience for him.

*             *             *

JJ looked around Emerson’s apartment. She had been here once – picking the young agent up the previous week when his car refused to start. Now, there was an emptiness that felt all-consuming. Any happiness that any of the team might have felt today had been thrown to the wind.

‘No sign of forced entry,’ announced Hotch, causing JJ to jump slightly. Her gaze had been focused on a series of framed photos that lined the mantelpiece. Faces that she couldn’t quite place names to. Emerson had talked about his mother before – she liked pottery, JJ recalled – but she had never seen a photo.

One of the photos depicted a laughing woman in her fifties – a woman that JJ and Hotch were just about to go and inform of her son’s death. They had come to the crime scene first, wanting – needing – to see what had befallen their colleague. Thankfully, the media had yet to break the story.

They found signs of a struggle in the bedroom – evidently the room from which Emerson had been taken. This was only one of their crime scenes.

Hotch frowned. ‘If he wanted to leave a message, why even bother kidnapping him? Why not just kill him here?’ Hotch tried to think of Emerson as someone other than a fallen colleague. Tried to stay objective. It didn’t work. Whichever way he looked at it, he had lost an agent. A life that could have been saved had Spencer not managed to escape the first time around. Had Hotch not managed to screw things up so royally.

‘The long game,’ suggested JJ. ‘Maybe he’s got something bigger planned here.

The thought did not comfort either of them.

*             *             *

Rossi, Morgan and Emily had visited the second crime scene – the place at which the body had been found. Hotch had been hesitant at letting Emily out in the field for such a case, but she had fervently argued her ability to stay focused.

‘There’s not a lot of blood,’ commented Rossi. ‘The body was covered in it, but there’s hardly any here.’

‘Dump site,’ concluded Morgan.

Emily frowned. ‘So he kidnaps Emerson, takes him somewhere, kills him, and then brings the body here. It seems unnecessary, considering he was going to kill him anyway.’

They had independently come to the same conclusions as Hotch and JJ. It just went to show how in sync the team had become since their first brush with Reid.

They stood back slightly from the yellow tape, watching as the crime scene techs finished processing the scene. It was a long and arduous process that had started when the body had been found earlier that morning. The body had already been taken away by the Medical Examiner, the sight of it deeply unnerving all three of them. It was one thing to see the body of a stranger, quite another to see the body of someone you knew, even if it had only been for a short time.

‘Got something,’ one of the techs yelled. Rossi had politely asked them to keep them informed of any findings as they ruminated from a distance. Evidently, they had found something worthy of the FBI’s attention.

It was a yellow envelope, held in the tech’s gloved hand. “F.B.I.” was printed on the front in neat, but imposing letters, mocking the team with their presence.

‘You’ll break chain of custody,’ the tech argued, as Morgan immediately tore the envelope open. In his haste, the contents of it fell to the ground. Emily stiffened.

Most of the photos had landed face up; they depicted an event that she certainly didn’t need reminding of. It was an event that was engrained in her memory – one that no amount of therapy would ever wash clean.

The photos were new to Rossi – he had not seen the immediate aftermath of Spencer Reid’s actions. He had not seen the frail body, bound and blindfolded, hovering between life and death. He had not seen the blood that had marred her pale skin, stained her clothes.

Morgan had been there, had seen it before. But that didn’t make it any easier.

‘Chain of custody doesn’t matter,’ said Rossi bluntly. ‘We already know who did this.’

He left his final words unsaid: “And he is going to pay.”


	3. Chapter 3

Wait for the Wheel

** _Realize deeply that the present moment is all you ever have._ **

_Eckhart Tolle_

*          *          *

III

Morgan was fuming.  Spencer Reid was mocking them, was flaunting his actions as though they were something to be admired rather than reviled. If Emily felt the same anger, then she was repressing it with unrivalled professionalism. She’d been doing it her whole life – compartmentalizing, blocking out all the bad stuff He, more than anyone understood the importance of the defense mechanism, though he had chosen a more aggressive method of sorting out his own demons. The compartmentalization certainly helped with focus, and right then, focus was of the utmost importance.

He watched her with a concerned eye through the passenger’s side window. Rossi had taken to the wheel most probably due to the extent of Morgan’s anger. She was staring out the window at passing buildings, as though lost in thought. He could imagine what kinds of things she was thinking about, and that only made him angrier.

Hotch and JJ had gone to inform Emerson’s family – a task that none envied them for. The rest of them would work on the profile. It was a profile that they were already intimate with. Far more intimate than they would have liked. Spencer Reid was intelligent, arrogant, and intent on making sure that the BAU suffered, of that they were sure. What his ultimate plan would be, they were yet to determine.

If they wanted to win the game, they’d have to stay one step ahead.

*          *          *

Spencer was grinning.

If one were to look up serial killer in the encyclopedia, one would not find an image of Spencer Reid. He was one of the Jeffery Dahmers of the world. Able to blend in without causing so much as a raised eyebrow. It didn’t matter that his image was plastered over every police bulletin board for a thousand miles. “Most Prolific Serial Killer of the Decade” the papers had called him, as if it was some award to be handed out, accompanied by a massive check. That would have been nice, he admitted. Much nicer than the squalor he was forced to live in now. Too rich, and he’d cause unnecessary attention for himself.

So he was sitting there, in the dank apartment, blinds drawn, staring at the laptop screen. He had almost succumbed to the temptation of staying around, watching their reaction to the crime scene from across the street in old-model sedan. Even with tinted windows, the risk was too high, though. He might have been arrogant, but he wasn’t foolish.

Instead, he had planted the tiny wireless spy camera at the scene. With any luck they’d find it, and know without a doubt that he was watching them. He wanted them to know. Wanted them to feel the anger, the hatred, maybe even the fear. The video footage had told him without a doubt that _they _were the ones investigating this. Not the local police, not the field office. Them. The BAU. The ones that had put him in this position in the first place. He had been perfectly happy living his double life in Vegas, but they had to come along and ruin it all.

Spencer Reid would have his revenge, of that there was no doubt.

*          *          *

JJ felt apprehensive walking up the footpath towards the house of Heather Emerson. Informing a person of their loved one’s death was never easy, but this time seemed so much harder, though they hadn’t even made it to the front door.

Out of the corner of her eye, JJ could see the stoic look on Hotch’s face. As hard as it was for her, it was probably even harder for the Unit Chief. It was his responsibility to keep the team in check, his responsibility to make sure that they were safe. This was about as far from safe as it got. As it was, though, he wasn’t about to admit any weakness.

When a woman with red, splotchy eyes answered the door, at first JJ had thought that they were too late, that the press had leaked, and the news of James Emerson’s death had been aired for the world to see. The truth, however, was much, much worse. In the woman’s right hand, there was a yellow envelope.

Rossi had called the moment he, Morgan and Prentiss had left the second crime scene, detailing in a hushed voice what they had found. It seemed as though Spencer Reid had handed out another envelope filled with photographs.

‘Mrs. Emerson?’ asked Hotch, his voice strained to the breaking point.

‘Is it true?’ she asked. ‘Is my son really dead?’ She hadn’t even asked their identity, but JJ got the feeling that she was in such at that point, she probably would have asked the mailman the same question.

‘Can we come inside?’ asked JJ diplomatically. The situation was throwing her family diplomacy skills through the loop. It wasn’t supposed to work like this. The killer wasn’t supposed to inform the families _before_ the police. Shaking, the woman stepped backwards to let them in.

Heather Emerson’s husband had died years before in the line of duty. Her only son, James, had been everything she could have wished for in a child, she informed them, hysteria having given way to prideful exposition. That more than anything struck JJ. This woman had no-one left now. Her world torn away by a sociopath. It wasn’t just the BAU that Spencer Reid was mocking.

It was the whole damn world.

‘May I see the photos,’ Hotch asked tersely, bringing the conversation back to their investigation. JJ knew that he didn’t mean to sound so rude about it, but keeping himself from breaking down came at some cost.

Sniffling again, Heather passed him the envelope. ‘I only looked at the first few,’ she said, tears beginning to escape her eyes once more. ‘Once I realized what it was…’

JJ gave a sympathetic smile, even though nothing she’s been through could possibly compare to what this woman was feeling. She didn’t know what she’d do if she lost any member of her family like that.

The photos had some order to them, JJ noticed. In the first few, he was apparently unconscious, the only signs of injury being minor cuts and bruises. From there, it got progressively worse. The final photo was of his corpse, with Reid’s message written in fresh blood. Unfinished business.

At that moment it became abundantly clear. It wasn’t just unfinished business for Spencer Reid.

It was unfinished business for the BAU too.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Wait for the Wheel

** _A tactical retreat is not a bad response to a surprise assault, you know. First you survive. Then you choose your own ground. Then you counterattack._ **

_Lois McMaster Bujold_

***          *          ***

IV

Spencer looked at the wall of his apartment with some consideration. He didn’t need to tape up articles, or pictures, or complicated flowcharts with lots of circles and arrows. It was all in his mind.

The BAU were right where he wanted them; they had found both the photos at the crime scene, and the photos that he had so graciously given to the dead agent’s mother. They knew he was after them, and that would make their comeuppance all the more glorious. It was no fun to destroy them if they didn’t even see it coming.

All the effort, all the planning, all the waiting would be worthwhile when he saw the look on Aaron Hotchner’s face as his team lay dead around him. Then, he would slit Hotchner’s throat, but not too deeply – enough that it would take the Unit Chief a few minutes to bleed to death. A slow, agonizing death.

He packed his things, knowing full well that his actions today _must_ succeed. If he failed, then everything else was for nothing. Every carefully laid plan – every tiny detail about how he would torture them, how he would destroy them – wasted. But then, he wasn’t worried.

Not even the finest minds in the FBI were good enough to outsmart Spencer Reid.

*          *          *

No-one questioned his presence in the up-market neighborhood. He looked different than he did in Vegas – he’d bulked up a bit, and his hair was a little longer – and he wasn’t anything like the face they’d put in the file. The Spencer Reid of the Las Vegas Police Department had been an enthusiastic, if nervous man. His colleagues would have attested to his friendliness to the last. The new – or, perhaps he should say the _real_ – Spencer Reid was calm. Confident. Cool. Calculating. There were a whole slew of adjectives to describe him, though he was betting that those provided by the BAU would be more vulgar than most.

He wasn’t bothered by anyone as he made his way up to the house. After all, he was wearing a suit, had his hair neatly tied back, and his goatee trimmed. He could have been any salesman or a lawyer, or any other professional. If he was confronted, he had the paperwork to back that up. Unlike any salesman or lawyer, though, he also had with him a set of lock picks, and the skill and dexterity to use them. He made a show of fumbling near the doorknob, to any briefly enquiring eyes, he could have been having trouble with his keys. The tumblers clicked into place with ease, and the door swung open beneath his touch.

He scoffed at the sight of an alarm system on the far wall. Any burglar worth the name could disable such a device. Once that task had been completed, he looked around the house with interest. The levity of the décor suggested that Agent Hotchner’s wife had been responsible for the interior design. In fact, he was fairly sure that Agent Hotchner barely spent any time in the house; a few hours every couple of days, his observations had told him.

A row of pictures ran along the mantelpiece. A dark haired man. A blond woman. A young child. Smiling, in every photo.

The photos were a lie.

Spencer knew the real truth. Of how Haley Hotchner had plans of leaving her husband. Of how five days out of seven she was sleeping with a man she had met at the gym. Of how their son had once gone two weeks without seeing his father.

To Spencer, poor fathers were something of a sore spot. His own father had abandoned him. Had abandoned his mother to a state that didn’t care at all.

Of course, those weren’t Spencer’s only motivations for breaking into Hotchner’s home. The Unit Chief was the glue that held the BAU together; they could survive without any other member, but without Hotchner, they were nothing more than a fish floundering on dry land. He would have fun toying with the others, but they weren’t the ones that he needed to beat.

Spencer picked up one of the many pictures of the young, smiling child - Jack. That could have been him once.

He took the image from its frame and slipped it in his pocket. Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner would be coming home to a terrible surprise.

If he even came home at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Wait for the Wheel

** _A successful individual typically sets his next goal somewhat but not too much above his last achievement. In this way he steadily raises his level of aspiration._ **

_Kurt Lewine_

***          *          ***

V

They stood around the whiteboard, looking somewhat apprehensive. Pictures of previous victims and previous crime scenes were stuck to the board, with the profile notes surrounding them. Spencer Reid’s face – his police academy graduation photo, to be more precise – was at the center of the display.

‘The man we’re looking for is named Spencer Reid,’ Hotch started. ‘He is a former police officer and is both highly intelligent, and charismatic.’

‘We suspect that Reid is responsible for the deaths of dozens of women, possibly more,’ Morgan continued, giving only the slightest sideways glance to Emily. ‘He displays symptoms of both Anti-Social Personality Disorder and Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He shows little to no remorse towards his victims, and should _not_ be underestimated, no matter how innocent he looks.’

They were briefing the local P.D; while technically speaking, it was a Bureau case, Hotch wanted all eyes out for this particular serial killer. He couldn’t let Reid outsmart them again – the first time had almost torn the team apart. The second time, he wasn’t so sure they’d bounce back from it.

Wasn’t so sure that _he_ would bounce back from it.

It wasn’t just his duty to delegate responsibility. It was his duty to protect the team, and so far, he felt as though he had failed completely. Reid had kidnapped an agent, killed another agent, and they were still no closer to catching him than they had been before Emerson’s death.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. ‘Excuse me for one moment,’ he said, leaving the rest of the team to finish off the profile – they were more than capable of it. Caller I.D told him that it was Haley, which he immediately found strange. Things between he and his wife had been somewhat distant lately. He came home late most nights, the horrors of the job consuming him.

‘Haley?’

‘Aaron, someone broke in.’ Her voice was high, somewhat panicked, and he almost found himself asking why she wasn’t at work before he realized what she’d actually said. ‘They trashed the house…there are photos…’

‘What photos?’ he asked sharply, cutting in on any further lamentations from his near estranged wife.

‘Dead girls. Blood. Do you know who did this, Aaron? Is someone going to come after me? My son?’

‘Stay there,’ he told her, not wanting to answer the question. ‘I’ll have a patrol car sent around, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

He flipped his phone shut, stepping quickly back into the briefing room. ‘We need to move – now,’ he said.

*          *          *

Hotch, Rossi and JJ left the station quickly while Emily and Morgan stayed behind. They needed to go over the victimology – make sure that Reid was definitely doing what they thought he was doing.

‘It feels strange,’ she admitted to Morgan, once they were the only ones left in the room. He admitted, he wasn’t prone to staying behind, but he felt almost obliged to keep an eye on Emily.

‘What feels strange?’ he asked, an eyebrow partly raised. She’s been compartmentalizing – whatever she feels about this case, about Spencer Reid – he’s only going to find out from picking up behavioral cues. Of course, those barriers drop away the moment they’re off the clock. He didn’t think they were going to be off the clock for a long time.

‘He wants to prove to us that he’s in control, so the logical extension of that would be to go after the leader, right?’

Morgan nodded. ‘Sure – cut off the snake’s head. Going after Haley makes sense if he wants to break down Hotch.’

‘Except in his mind, Hotch is a professional adversary – it makes more sense that he’d go after one of us, than after Haley.’ She stopped, teeth on her lip the only sign that she was thinking about something other than the case at hand.

‘You think it’s some kind of distraction?’ he queried. ‘Something to confuse us?’

She shrugged with a sigh, sitting down next to him as they both stared at the whiteboard. ‘I don’t know – it just feels too easy. This guy played all of us last time. What’s to say he won’t do it again?’

Morgan nodded. She had a point, but that didn’t mean they should risk the safety of Haley and Jack.

‘Alright,’ he said, finally. ‘So how do we want to look at this?’


	6. Chapter 6

Wait for the Wheel

** _Try not to become a man of success but rather to become a man of value._ **

_Albert Einstein_

*          *          *

VI

Hotch was not in a good mood when he returned to the police station. He had spent so much of his career trying to keep his personal and professional life separate, but it was an impossible task. Gideon had told him once that he would have to choose one or the other. The decision wasn’t one that he was ready to make, and Jason Gideon was not the best role model when it came to juggling the job with the personal life. Still – that didn’t mean he was wrong.

Today was just another weight to the camel’s back. Haley Hotchner did not appreciate her house being broken into by a serial killer. She did not appreciate being told that said serial killer could see her as a target, and most definitely did not appreciate being taken into protective custody because of those two facts.

It had pained Hotch to do it, but ultimately, he preferred his wife (no matter how far apart they’d drifted lately) to be angry and alive, rather than dead. None of that changed the fact that he wanted Spencer Reid in custody_ yesterday_, something that was looking further and further from the realm of possibility. It wasn’t often that serial killers like Reid came along, and they always seemed to shake the foundations.

Already, the team was starting to fall apart.

‘We’ve got a theory,’ were the first words out of Morgan’s mouth the moment Hotch stepped into the room.

‘We think Haley could be a distraction,’ Emily revealed. She continued before he could say anything. One hand gestured towards the whiteboard. ‘His actions so far have been well-thought out – almost subtle in their ingenuity – but the scene you described at your house is almost…’

‘Overcompensating,’ finished Morgan. ‘As though he wants us to keep our attention on it.’

Emily frowned, as though she’d just thought of something. ‘Or, he wants us to think that it’s a distraction. Either way, he’s trying to confuse us – get us going in circles, chasing our tails.’

Hotch nodded. It had been a long day, and he was tired, but they weren’t wrong. Their last encounter with Spencer Reid had shown that whatever they learnt about him couldn’t be trusted. He was cunning – a word that couldn’t be applied to most of the people they hunted.

One of a kind.

‘So what do we do, then?’ Emily asked, her eyes locked on Hotch’s. He didn’t need to turn to know that Morgan’s were, too. Both were capable agents, but they were looking to him for guidance, and he wasn’t sure he could give it to them. Part of him wanted to just find Spencer Reid and snap his neck, rule of law be damned. Kill him for what he’d done to Emily, to Emerson, to Haley, to the team.

But no. That wasn’t the man that Aaron Hotchner wanted to become. One thing that kept him going was the fact that he would not stoop to their level. Of that, he was absolutely sure.

*          *          *

JJ and Rossi canvassed Hotch’s neighborhood, looking for someone that might have seen anything; the kind of car Reid was driving, which direction he’d gone in. Any detail was something they sorely needed. Rossi knew that Reid would probably have put up counter-measures – doubling back to avoid being tracked, switching plates, and so on, but they couldn’t rule out any possibility. Even the most intelligent of offenders made mistakes. They just had to hope that Spencer Reid was cocky enough to do the same.

And this time, they had to make sure he didn’t get away. David Rossi was willing to bet that every single member of the team had an itchy trigger finger, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was too upset about that.

After the twelfth house they’d been to, though, the adrenaline was wearing thin. It was suburbia in the middle of the day, which meant that hardly anyone had been home at the time of the break in, and those that had, weren’t exactly paying attention to the young man that had let himself into the Hotchner home.

One neighbor told them, in a staged whisper, as though someone was listening, ‘It’s something of a neighborhood gossip point – Mrs. Hotchner can’t exactly get any from her husband, so she goes looking…elsewhere. I guess I just assumed he was her new boy toy.’

Rossi raised an eyebrow. ‘No-one’s thought to tell _Mr._ Hotchner about this?’

The woman’s reply was scathing, almost defensive. ‘If _my _husband spent twenty-four hours a day at work, then you could bet I’d be cheating too.’

They didn’t spend too much longer at that house.

The next house seemed different. Eerily quiet, even though there was a car parked in the driveway. Rossi knocked cautiously, and the door was open within seconds.

The woman that answered was crying, mascara streaked across the top of her cheeks. Rossi felt the warning bells going off in his head, but in the spirit that had led to his three divorces, ignored them. He shared a glance with JJ.

‘Please…’ the woman said. ‘You have to help – he’s going to kill me.’

It felt wrong – if there was someone trying to kill this woman, then why was she standing at the door, and not running.

‘My husband,’ she added. ‘He was trying to stab me, and I pushed him, and he…’ She let out a wrenching sob. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do when he wakes up.’

There was a moment of hesitation, tinged with relief. Just a domestic.

‘It’s okay,’ JJ assured the woman, as Rossi moved past them to step inside. He heard the door being pulled shut behind him, but didn’t turn to look.

The block of wood was swinging so fast, Rossi almost didn’t see it before it struck him against the forehead. He fell to the ground, his head spinning. Where had that come from? The hallway? Had someone been waiting for him? The husband?

No. Not the husband.

The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the smiling face of Spencer Reid.


	7. Chapter 7

Wait for the Wheel

** _Living hell is the best revenge._ **

_Adrienne E. Gusoff_

*          *          *

VII

Spencer Reid stared down at the two unconscious FBI Agents. After he’d knocked out the older one – Rossi – the blond had put up a fair fight, but Spencer hadn’t been killing for so long without being able to outclass a petite woman in hand to hand combat, even one that had professional training.

Their hands and feet were bound with the rope from his duffle bag, gags of cloth preventing any sound from escaping. They wouldn’t be conscious for a long time yet – he’d followed up the physical blows with chemical sedation. It wouldn’t do any good if they woke up before he was ready.

The woman whose house he’d used for the ambush stood, watching him. Her body still shook with tears, and she seemed too overcome with fear to attempt to fight him.

Weak.

But at the same time, strong enough to risk the lives of two complete strangers to save her children. The ultimatum he’d given her – do as I say, or they die.

 ‘Will you please let me go to them now?’ the woman asked, her face still streaked with tears. Spencer had to admit, she had done a pretty good job. Convincing enough to fool a profiler.

The lengths people went to when they’re family were in danger.

Spencer wouldn’t know about that. He’d never had any family. Not really.

His parents were weak. He only wished that he could have killed them.

‘Your children will be fine,’ he promised her, and the second her body relaxed in relief, he plunged the knife into her chest. Her eyes widened in pain and disbelief.

Her children were better off without her. They would just have to learn that they couldn’t rely on anyone but themselves.

He thrust the knife in twice more for good measure, even though the woman’s body had already gone limp. It wasn’t enough for her to just die – Spencer needed Aaron Hotchner to know who had killed her.

And more importantly, he needed Aaron Hotchner to know who had abducted David Rossi and Jennifer Jareau.

He found the irony amusing – he would not have escalated this far, if not for the BAU’s intervention. If they had never come to Las Vegas, Nevada, he probably would have kept on killing women. Not forever, though. A man like Spencer Reid needed a challenge.

A challenge like destroying the finest minds in the FBI.

He left the woman’s body where it lay, and made his way upstairs to where he knew the children were. Two boys, judging by the photos that lined the hallway. Orphans, now. He knew what a house without a father looked like.

The elder of the two was about seven, sandy blond hair, green eyes. Spencer knocked on the door and let himself inside the boy’s room.

‘Hi.’ He knelt down, the older boy’s obstinate eyes locking with his. Beside him, the younger boy kept playing with his Lego.

‘Who are you?’ the boy demanded. He was, according to Piaget, just entering the concrete operational stage; categorized by the appearance of transivity, classification, reversibility, and the disappearance of false-belief. Far more equipped than his brother to understand the gravity of the situation, and the importance of not talking to strangers.

But not quite old enough to understand everything.

‘My name’s Spencer,’ he smiled. ‘I’m a friend of your Mom’s. She’s going to be a little busy for a while, so she asked me to come up here and tell you to keep playing.’ He dug a hand into his pocket, and pulled out two lollipops, handing one to each of the boys. The younger one tore at the wrapper excitedly, but the older boy continued to frown.

‘I’m not supposed to take candy from strangers,’ he said.

‘I’m not a stranger,’ Spencer smiled. ‘I’m a friend of your mom’s.’ The boy took the lollipop, and Spencer’s smile widened. They’d be better off without their parents. Stronger.

Just like him.

Leaving the boys to their Lego, he went downstairs and into the kitchen. A set of car keys hung off a hook, and he twirled them around his finger.

Minivan.

Perfect.

He lugged Rossi’s dead weight out first – heavier than he was used to, and Rossi would probably have a few bruises before he’d even left the house, but Spencer was stronger than he looked. Jareau was a cakewalk by comparison – he’d been lugging around bodies her size for years already.

He had a second car stashed away, and it would be a while before anyone realized Rossi and Jareau were missing – door to door took a long time. On impulse, he pulled a third lollipop from his pocket and discarded the wrapper, letting his tongue fold around the taste of strawberry.

Life was good.


	8. Chapter 8

Wait for the Wheel

** _Real success is finding your lifework in the work that you love._ **

_David McCullough_

***          *          ***

VIII

Hotch frowned. JJ and Rossi were ten minutes late on their call in. On any other day, any other case, he wouldn’t have been so worried, but Spencer Reid was not a normal case.

‘Neither of you have heard from JJ or Rossi?’ he asked Morgan and Emily, both of whom shook their heads.

‘You think he’s taken them, don’t you?’ Emily asked, realization dawning. ‘Have you called yet?’

‘Not yet.’ Instead of calling Rossi, Hotch put a call through to Garcia first. If the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach was anything to go by, then he wanted the call traced. ‘Garcia, I’m about to make a phone call – I want you ready to trace it.’

‘_I don’t like the sound of that_,’ Garcia said, but he heard her fingers tapping away. ‘_Okay, I’m ready for you to make the call_.’

He dialed the number, ignoring the slight intake of breath from Garcia, as she realized who he was calling. There was one ring. Two rings.

‘_Hello, Agent Hotchner._’

‘What have you done with my agents?’ Hotch demanded, vaguely aware of Morgan’s reaction to the revelation. The younger man’s fist thumped the wall, and Emily closed her eyes, teeth worrying her lip. This was bad – there was no doubt about that.

‘_They’re alive…for now. It wouldn’t be any fun if I killed them without you being able to see it, now, would it?_’

‘You aren’t going to get away with this, Reid. We will find you.’ Spencer’s laugh echoed in Hotch’s ear, and then there was nothing but dial tone. ‘Garcia, please tell me you have something.’

There was a short silence. ‘_I’m sorry – he wasn’t on the line long enough. I have it narrowed down to a twenty mile radius, but that’s all I can give you. He might still be on the move._ _I’ll send the zone through anyway – it might be of some help._’

‘Thank-you, Garcia,’ Hotch told the technical analyst, and he was saying thank-you for so many things. Part of him felt that maybe he was saying “I’m sorry” at the same time.

To Morgan and Emily, he said, ‘We need to go back to the neighborhood that JJ and Rossi were canvassing – find out where he took them from. More than anything else – be careful.’

**…**

It didn’t take them long to find something suspicious in the neighborhood of picture perfect houses. They almost missed it, but then Morgan had looked through the window beside the door, and seen the blood spreading across the floor.

‘We got blood,’ he told Emily, and readied himself to kick the door in. She pulled her gun out, and held it steady. They didn’t know what they’d find inside the house. He thrust his foot against the door, and the wood splintered beneath the force of it.

The blood pooled from a body – a body that was not JJ’s or Rossi’s, and he felt a little bit guilty for feeling relieved. It was a woman in her late thirties, dark hair, cheeks stained with tears and mascara. Three stab wounds, the blood patterns overlapping. She didn’t have a chance.

‘Mommy?’ His heart broke at the sound of the voice on the stairs.

‘I got it,’ Emily told him, rushing to reach the child before he saw what had become of his mother.

‘Hey,’ he heard her say. ‘My name’s Emily, I’m with the FBI. Can you tell me your name?’

‘Jake,’ the boy said, sniffling. ‘What happened to my mommy?’ Hearing a second set of footsteps, Morgan moved to join the throng of people.

‘Did he hurt her?’ the second boy asked – he was a little older, a little more self-aware. ‘He said he was a friend of hers, but I never saw him before.’

‘What else did he say to you?’ Morgan asked.

‘He gave us lollipops, and told us that mommy said to keep playing with our Lego.’ The younger boy – Jake – looked at Morgan as though he’d just told them that the Easter Bunny was a serial killer. ‘Where’s mommy?’

Emily gave Morgan a look, and then turned back to the boys. ‘How about you two show me what you’ve been building with your Lego?’ Jake seemed enthusiastic at the idea, and ran back upstairs, but the other boy looked skeptical.

‘What did he do to her?’ There were tears in his eyes, as if he already knew. ‘Did he kill her?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Emily whispered, and the boy broke out into harsh sobs. She put an arm around him, and gave Morgan a look. ‘Call Hotch. I’ll stay with the kids.’

Morgan nodded with a grimace. Dealing with kids who had lost their parents was one of the worst parts about this job. He related to them far more than he would have liked to.

Moving back towards the kitchen, he looked for signs of anything out of place. Aside from the dead body, there was nothing. The house had a garage, though, so he checked that. The car wasn’t there. Reid might have changed cars already, but they couldn’t rule out the possibility that he hadn’t. After calling Hotch, he made another call to Garcia, finding out the car registration, and a third to the police station, getting them to put out an APB for the vehicle. If they were really, really lucky, they might get something, but he sincerely doubted it.

Reid was way too smart for that.


	9. Chapter 9

Wait for the Wheel

** _The ability to delude yourself may be an important survival tool._ **

_Jane Wagner_

**…**

IX

Jennifer Jareau opened her eyes with a groan, and for a second, it almost seemed as though she hadn’t opened them at all. Wherever she was, it was pitch dark, and her hands were bound behind her back. Her breaths came in short gasps, and even then it seemed like the hardest thing in the world.

All in all, not the most optimistic of situations.

It wasn’t a situation she was used to; people thought the job was a lot more exciting, a lot more dramatic than it really was. Aside from a few exceptions, the job was mostly investigation and paperwork, with that side order of adrenaline.

For JJ, this was new.

She’d never been in this predicament before. Maybe that was something to do with the fact that she didn’t see the field nearly as much as the rest of the team, but then, it wasn’t as though this had happened in the middle of a high-stakes raid. They’d been ambushed.

Spencer Reid had outsmarted them.

Unsurprising, considering the profile – the BAU housed some of the best minds in law enforcement, but none of them had anything near the kind of genius that Reid had.

Her body tightened as she heard a noise, and her brain took a few seconds to interpret the sound. Another groan. Not her voice this time – deeper, more gravelly. Male.

‘What the hell?’ David Rossi muttered, and JJ almost felt like laughing. It wasn’t often that Rossi was so…uninformed.

‘You got whacked in the head with a plank of wood,’ she informed him, and even though it was pitch dark, she knew that he was frowning.

‘I know,’ he growled. There was a pause. ‘Drugged, too.’

JJ blinked. That would explain the fuzziness. Aside from a few cases of local anesthesia, and the occasional Advil, she wasn’t exactly used to being drugged, either.

‘Means he didn’t want us to wake up on the way here,’ Rossi continued. ‘Guy’s a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet, he wouldn’t be able to take us both on if we woke up on him.’

‘One eighty, actually,’ a voice spoke, out of the darkness. ‘I try to work out.’

JJ heard a switch flip, and the room was suddenly cloaked in light. Her eyes didn’t particularly like the sudden change in luminance. Spencer Reid was sitting on a stool on the far side of the room. She hadn’t exactly had the chance to examine his appearance in great detail when fighting for her life, but now, given the opportunity, she could tell how different he seemed.

Evidently, Reid had taken the time to change since their confrontation at the house - he was wearing khakis and a lavender Oxford shirt, overlaid with an argyle vest, and a thin tie. His hair was a lot longer than last time, starting to curl towards his chin. In another life, she might have seen him as attractive, in a strange sort of way, but right now, it was difficult to shake the fact that he was a ruthless killer.

‘What the hell do you want?’ Rossi demanded, and JJ looked sideways at him. There was blood on the side of his face, trickling down, from where the plank had hit him. She knew she probably looked a lot worse – he’d managed to get in a few blows to the face, and there was most definitely swelling already.

‘Interesting,’ Reid said with a laugh. ‘I would have thought that the author of _The Secret Desires of Sadistic Serial Killers _would be able to answer that question himself. I guess I overestimated you.’

The words were undoubtedly meant to sting, but JJ knew David Rossi; he would be getting up in arms less about the words of a pathological liar, and moreso over the fact that they had managed to get themselves abducted in the first place.

Whatever the outcome, it was going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork.

**…**

Emily ducked out of the house the moment Hotch arrived, the dead woman’s children having accompanied local uniforms back to the station. Part of her wanted to stay with them, to reassure them that everything would be okay, but that was a lie – a lie to herself as well as a lie to them.

She found herself sitting on a porch chair that overlooked the street; she needed her mind to focus, to think about why Spencer Reid would have taken JJ or Rossi, about where he would have taken them.

The answer to the first question was easy. Profiling 101. It was a message. More specifically, a message to Hotch - “I have your people. I can do whatever I want with them.” The last time they’d played that game had been a little different. Last time Emily had been on the other side, but she wasn’t exactly sure that it was any more comforting to be on this side. She knew firsthand the horrors that her friends would be going through, the horrors she relived in her nightmares.

Emily’s hand slipped into her pocket, and pulled out a golden chain, a few specks of blood – _her_ blood – still caught between the links. She briefly considered taking a toothbrush to it, but on the list of important things in her life, it wasn’t exactly close to the top right now.

She let the chain wrap around her fingers, the cross lying in her closed fist.

‘Hey.’

Emily looked up to see Morgan standing by the chair.

‘Can I sit with you?’ he asked, gesturing towards the empty seat beside her. There was some kind of anger in his expression, which was unsurprising, but he wasn’t punching walls, or throwing furniture. Derek Morgan had changed a lot in the time that she’d known him. Whether that was because he was becoming used to the atrocities of the job, or he was succumbing to the despair, it was sometimes hard to tell.

It was a fine line.

She inclined her head slightly in assent, fearing her voice might crack if she said anything.

‘I still can’t…’ She choked on the words, feeling the tears at the corner of her eyes. Derek let his hand rest on hers, the friction rubbing the chain against her skin. She looked up and saw that he had tears in his own eyes as well, and somehow, that made her feel a little less stupid about what she was going to say. ‘All my life, I’ve been taught to keep my emotions behind locked doors, but…doing this job. At first you think you might get used to all the death, all that sadness. But there’s always just one more sick, freakish bastard out there who’s determined to overshadow any decent thing in the world. I don’t think there’s any way of justifying that.’

‘There isn’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I don’t think that the goodness is any less important. I guess we just tend to polarize a little. Good versus evil is easier to swallow than taking into account all the shades of gray.’

Emily shook her head. ‘I can’t see gray here, Derek. Not now. Not today.’ She expected him to say something comforting, to tell her that she was wrong, but he didn’t say anything, and somehow, that was more terrifying than anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Wait for the Wheel

** _Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards. _ **

_Soren Kierkegaard_

**...**

X

At the police station, everyone was feeling the tension. It wasn’t the first time that a case had become personal, but it was probably the worst. They all knew far too well what Spencer Reid was capable of. Whatever JJ and Rossi were going through, it probably wasn’t tea and crumpets.

The briefing room felt uncomfortable empty; they were down to three profilers, all of whom had a heavy emotional investment in the situation. They weren’t good odds on the best of days.

‘We need to give the older boy a cognitive interview,’ Hotch said, breaking the silence.

‘You think they saw something that might help us?’ Morgan asked, frowning.

Hotch’s reply was filled with a desperation that Emily hadn’t heard since Gideon’s death. ‘It’s the best hope we’ve got.’ He gave Emily a look. She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘You want _me_ to do it?’ Emily’s words came out a little more incredulous than she had intended, but the sentiment remained – she was barely able to deal with her own emotional function with regards to Spencer Reid, let alone someone else’s.

‘He’ll respond better to you,’ was the explanation given. It might have been true, but that didn’t mean she had to feel any better about doing it.

‘Do you want back-up?’ Morgan asked, and Emily bit back the comment she’d been about to make. Over the past few months, Morgan had been a pillar of strength, but Emily didn’t want to grow dependant on him.

‘I’ve got it,’ she assured him, even though she wasn’t exactly sure how true that statement was. It was part of the grand BAU tradition – “say you’re fine, even if you’re not.”

She found the two boys under the watchful care of a uniformed officer, whose nametag read “Ramirez.” Someone had found some Tonka trucks for them – the younger one  - Jake – seemed fairly into it, pushing the toys around the floor and making loud engine sounds, but the older one – Nick – seemed far more distracted.

_Did he kill her?_ The boy’s words echoed in her ear, and she was fairly sure she would never be able to forget them.

Nick looked upwards as she walked over, her eyes widening. ‘Did you find him?’

Emily bit her lip and shook her head. She didn’t know how to explain to this boy how complicated it was to catch a serial killer. It wasn’t the kind of thing that he should know. At his age, he should be playing teeball, and running around with his friends, not sitting, orphaned, on the floor of a police station.

‘I need to ask you some questions, would that be alright?’

Nick looked back towards his brother. ‘Jake, too?’

Emily shook her head, but for some reason, Nick seemed relieved by her words. Maybe he was just being the protective sibling. After what had happened, she couldn’t blame him.

**…**

Reid stared into the darkness.

He’d locked the door of the basement behind him; both of the FBI agents were smart enough to know that calling for help would only get them killed. He just had to wait – Hotchner would grow more and more desperate trying to find his agents, and that’s when Reid would strike.

He had plenty of time.

The house he’d chosen was a decent enough, all things considered. Single occupant that likely wouldn’t be missed for a while, which was lucky, because Spencer had slit his throat days ago. The neighborhood had a high turnover rate, even with the economic crisis. As far as anyone else knew, Reid was just the new tenant.

Still, his face was probably all over the local news by now, so he’d kept to himself, mostly. When the time was right, they would all know.

The row of clear vials lined the bathroom sink. They’d last for another few days at least, but then he’d have to go out for more. Whatever high the drug gave him, though, it would be nothing compared to the thrill he’d get from his next kill.

He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, tightening the belt around his upper arm. The crook of his elbow was already dotted with needle marks.

_Is this in your profile?_

He gave a long sigh, as the contents of the needle plunged into his vein. It was a feeling like no other, save one.

He gave himself a shaky grin.

It was time to have a little fun.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

Wait for the Wheel

** _The first principle is that you must not fool yourself - and you are the easiest person to fool._ **

_Richard Feynman_

**…**

XI

There were interrogation rooms available, but that wasn’t exactly appropriate for the atmosphere she needed. Interrogation rooms were claustrophobic and uncomfortable. She needed something a little more open. The conference room was also a no-go – aside from the whiteboard with the profile written on it in Hotch’s neat handwriting, there were files everywhere, and pictures of bodies. Not to mention the fact that Morgan and Hotch were in there, trying to narrow down their profile of Spencer Reid just that little bit further.

There was a second conference room available though – one that was empty. Emily led the young boy down the hallway, hyperaware of the stoic look on his face. She wanted to tell him that it was okay to cry – that was a lesson that Emily’s mother had never taught. From a young age, it was “stay strong in the face of adversity” before she even knew what the word adversity meant.

That wasn’t the kind of life a child was supposed to live.

The look Nick gave her as he sat down in the seat that was far too big for him, was one of despair. It was the look of that lost little boy whose parents were dead, who was trying to stay strong.

She wanted to tell him that everything would be okay, but that would be a lie. It would be the biggest lie she’d ever told in her life. Because things weren’t okay. The world was a cruel, horrific place.

She gave him a smile that held no mirth.

Maybe she was just getting cynical.

‘I need you to close your eyes and pretend you’re back at home.’

The boy scrunched his eyes shut, lips pressing together tightly. ‘Jakey and me were in our room, playing with Lego. I heard a knock on the door, and Mom answered it.’

‘Did you see the man she let inside?’

Nick shook his head. ‘Not yet. But Mommy came upstairs, and she told us to keep playing. She was crying – I hadn’t seen her cry since before he left us.’

By “he,” Emily assumed that Nick meant their father. From what she’d heard – and seen – it seemed like their life had been just as depressing then.

‘She went back downstairs, and we heard another knock on the door. I wanted to go down to see what was happening, but then I heard the noises.’

‘What noises?’

‘Yelling and fighting,’ Nick told her. ‘Just like...I didn’t want Jakey to get hurt, so I pretended that everything was okay.’ The boy choked back a sob. ‘Then...he came upstairs. I asked him who he was, and he told me that his name was Spencer, and that he was a friend of my Mom’s. He gave us both a lollipop, and then he left.’

Emily didn’t want to dig further, but she knew she had to.  ‘Can you tell me anything else, like...what he was wearing, or how he seemed?’

‘I don’t know.’ Nick’s voice took on a high-pitched tone. He was strong, but he was also only seven, and that was a lot of pressure to put on any kid.

‘It’s okay,’ Emily assured him. ‘We don’t have to do any more.’

It hadn’t been the most successful of cognitive interviews, but then, she hadn’t really expected to get much anyway. Still, she was only partially surprised when Nick burst into tears and wrapped his arms around her. She felt guilty for having made him relive his mother’s death. It was enough that he’d been through it once.

‘Am I going to go live with Daddy?’ he asked, and through the tears, Emily heard fear. Sending these kids to live with their father seemed like the worst idea in the world.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered, frowning.

‘I don’t want to live with Daddy,’ he sobbed. Emily patted his back, not quite sure what else she could do. Sensing eyes on her, she looked up and saw Morgan standing by the door.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked, softly. Emily gave him a grim smile; “okay” wasn’t exactly the word she would have used to describe the situation.

 Sensing that Morgan was there for a reason other than just checking up on things, Emily took Nick’s hand, and led him back to his brother and Officer Ramirez.

‘So how’s he coping?’ Morgan asked, as they made their way back to the conference room.

‘Kid just lost his mom, Derek – how would you be?’ No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, she realized the enormity of her mistake. ‘Oh shit. Morgan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’

‘It’s okay,’ he interrupted. ‘I know what you meant.’

‘He’s a strong kid,’ Emily continued. ‘But he’s been through a lot.’ There was a long pause. ‘It just...really, really sucks.’

‘It does,’ Morgan agreed.

‘I’m going to talk to Garcia about tracking down relatives. Their father’s still alive, but from what I could tell, he wasn’t exactly Dad of the Year.’

‘What are you thinking, Prentiss?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Just that...I don’t want these kids to go from one bad home to another. The only time they seemed to have it good was when they were living with their Mom, and now she’s dead.’

‘Remember what Hotch said, about being objective.’

Emily gave Morgan a look. ‘Jesus, Derek. Just because I want to make sure these kids don’t grow up with shitty foster parents doesn’t mean I’m not being objective.’

‘I’m just saying...’

Their conversation ground to a halt as they entered the conference room, where Hotch was standing over an open file.

‘Anything?’ he asked. Anyone that didn’t know Aaron Hotchner would not have noticed the tone of desperation in his voice.

Emily shook her head. ‘Nothing we didn’t already know.’

Hotch nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s review.’

...

Wherever they were, they’d been there for hours. Unsurprisingly, Reid hadn’t provided them with food or water, which under the circumstances would have been survivable, but JJ was starting to get kind of dizzy.

Reid had kept the lights on, after his last departure, but Rossi took the time to keep talking, and she was grateful – it was a reassurance that she wasn’t in this alone. He talked about mundane things – ex-wives, the dogs he used to own – topics so far removed from serial killers that at times, it was almost easy to forget that they were in the hands of one.

‘So how about you?’ he asked, an air of nonchalance that was entirely too casual. ‘Anyone special?’

JJ almost laughed. ‘As if I have time for romance with a job like this. Chances are, the only time I’d ever meet someone was if they were a local cop, or at the coffee shop I go to every morning.’

‘Men should be crawling over broken glass to see a woman like you,’ a voice said, and JJ nearly jumped out of her skin. Reid had entered the room so quietly, she hadn’t even noticed. Of course, it didn’t help that she had to turn to see the door.

‘Don’t talk to her like that,’ Rossi demanded, and JJ was hyperaware of Reid standing right behind her. She sucked in a breath as he brushed her hair away from her neck.

‘All he sees you as is another woman to fuck,’ Reid whispered. ‘I bet he’s been through half the Bureau already. Your friend, Emily – she was practically used up by the time I got to her.’

‘Just because your mother slept around doesn’t mean that everyone does,’ Rossi said, and really, JJ wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting to happen, but Reid snapped.

‘Don’t you _dare_ talk about my mother like that!’ he yelled. ‘My mother...’

‘You love your mother, don’t you?’ Rossi asked. ‘Because no-one ever took care of little Spencey the way she did.’

He was trying to distract Reid, JJ realized. He was trying to draw his attention away from her, and onto himself. And it was working.

Reid stalked over to Rossi, and kicked the chair out from underneath him. ‘You think you know anything about my mother?’

‘You’re high.’

‘Shut up!’ He kicked Rossi square in the ribs, and Rossi let out a groan.

‘I can see it in your eyes – you know there’s a high co-morbidity of drug abuse with narcissistic personality disorder.’

‘I said, shut _up_!’ Reid pulled the gun from the waistband of his pants, and JJ’s heart skipped a beat.

‘NO!’ she called out, but it was too late.

She didn’t have time to close her eyes before Reid pulled the trigger.


End file.
